


The (Stupidest, Dumbest, Most Idiotic) Plan

by Yuval25



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action, Angst, Basically Mycroft beating the shit out of John, Beating, Brothers, Cold, Drama, Faked Murder, Humor, Kidnapping, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Plans, Violence, Warehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuval25/pseuds/Yuval25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man who puts his brother above all else would without fail respond in kind when dealing with said brother's death. Or, more precisely, murder. Sherlock had reassured him though that Mycroft wouldn't go as far as kill him, but now John wasn't so sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (Stupidest, Dumbest, Most Idiotic) Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what I've tried to accomplish here...

The first thing John felt as he regained consciousness was cold. His limbs shook on the icy, stone floor and as far as he could tell he was completely naked. His wrists were twisted behind his back and held in place with some sort of a thin plastic strap. His head pounded and the groan that escaped his lips at the sudden pain was hoarse and weak. His eyes were covered with a cloth that had a rough, itchy texture, tied too tightly around his head and worryingly coiled around his neck to ensure he wouldn't push it off with the support of the floor. His whole body ached, tense muscles and abused flesh calling out for aspirin. The doctor in him disapproved of the lack of medical treatment.

He registered loud steps echoing closer and closer; the room was rather large, tall ceiling, empty enough produce echo. It was still summer (or, at least, he _thought_ it was still summer), so cooling the room to such an extent had to be done deliberately and with effective conditioning methods as the room was big. Whoever held him had enough resources and money to make those arrangements.

But he already knew that. Mycroft Holmes had a position which allowed him to get away with a great deal of things.

The person standing over him was undoubtedly the man himself, John concluded. It didn't bother him as much as it should have, considering the circumstances. But then again, he was never very terrified of the man, not even now, lying in what was most likely an abandoned warehouse at his mercy.

It was to be expected, though, this whole business. A man who puts his brother above all else would without fail respond in kind when dealing with said brother's death. Or, more precisely, murder. Sherlock had reassured him though that Mycroft wouldn't go as far as kill him, but now John wasn't so sure. He certainly sounded like he wanted to kill him.

"John Watson, how does it feel to have achieved what many have tried and failed to do? How does it feel to know you have succeeded in killing Sherlock Holmes? Is it as gratifying as you thought? No?" the icy voice mocked, sharp and vicious. "Very loyal, very quickly. But also, disloyal, very, very quickly, it seems."

John kept silent, cursing Sherlock in his head for his idiotic plan. Well, no, it was a very good plan, even managed to fool Mycroft, but John was the one who suffered the consequences.

Something hard and pointy struck his left shoulder forcibly and he yelled out. _Damn, that was his injured shoulder!_ An intense pain washed over his arm and back. Mycroft continued, unrelenting.

"Harriet Watson, isn't it?" he scoffed, making John tense as he froze at the man's words. Did Sherlock take that into account? "What was the saying? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." He was kicked again, this time in his temple, with the same hard object that was too blunt to be the man's ever-present umbrella, so John guessed it must have been his shoe. His head was tossed sideways, making his neck crack loudly and his cheekbone slam painfully against the floor. "A sibling for a sibling,"

Through the throbbing of his head he heard the words and managed a panicked gasp. Mycroft laughed.

"If you hurt her, I will never tell you where I hid his body," John threatened weakly, knowing they wouldn't find a body because there _wasn't_ one. But Mycroft didn't know that.

"My men are searching as we speak, and let me tell you, they are very thorough," Mycroft chuckled wickedly.

"But they haven't found anything yet, have they? Thorough as they may be, they have nothing to show for it," he taunted. He knew he was only going to get more beating for talking back, but he honestly didn't know if Sherlock remembered his family when he put the plan together.

The expected beating came, leaving him with bleeding wounds and a sprained wrist.

"You are brave to answer me such. I have told you the first time we met, haven't I? Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity." Another kick, this time to the ribs. He was probably black and blue all over by now. Sherlock had better finish his undercover business soon, or he would return to a dead flat-mate.

"Are you calling yourself smart, then?" John hissed from between clenched teeth, earning him a strike to the jaw. His teeth stayed intact, though, thankfully.

"You will suffer, John Watson. Dearly," the man sighed. It was not a sigh of tiredness or boredom, no, it was a sigh one would make accompanied by a 'what a waste' expression. It was almost insulting, how little of importance Mycroft thought him to be. Although, he guessed the man did dedicate an entire warehouse with cooling systems to hold him, so maybe he wasn't thought as inferior as he had thought. That didn't make him feel any better, though.

Another stroke came to his stomach. John closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and thought of Sherlock.

That _idiot_.


End file.
